


May the Stars Guide You

by scarlthesnarl



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Gen, caveman AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7459048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlthesnarl/pseuds/scarlthesnarl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is hard enough as a prehistoric human without suffering incarnate breathing down your neck, but without a shaman strong enough to challenge it, what can you and your tribe do? How about a good old fashioned quest to find one? Yeah that sounds about right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May the Stars Guide You

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so... Saw a shitty caveman AU, decided to write my own. This is multi-chap and will be updated whenever I have the ability to access the internet (I am stuck on an island for the summer so it makes such things difficult). Don't worry, there won't be any gross stuff in this one I promise (ie. none of this "sacred rod" bullshit). 
> 
> Bite me, Mashima.

The doe crashes to the forest floor, legs kicking and body thrashing. An arrow planted firmly in her throat drains her life away with each weakening jerk.  
  
The arrow’s owner approaches her with caution, careful to stand clear of the flailing hooves. He waits for the twitching of the body to cease and her rolling eyes to become glassy. Once upon a time, he would not have taken such precautions, but for a man with no tribe, no clan, he must take heed. One misstep can lead to his doom, be it swift or slow.

The benefits of action and bravery tempered by wisdom and patience had been a lesson learned far too late. He has paid for that delay with his solitude. It would have been a simple thing to have his hunters come with him; they had been the loudest voices -the only ones, for that matter- risen in protest of his banishment. They proclaimed that they’d follow him to the ends of the Earth, but he did not allow it. True, he would not have been alone, but after all he had done, to rob the clan of three more members would have only added weight to his crime.

The motions of packing away what he’ll claim from this kill are automatic, and his obsidian knife makes short work of separating hide from flesh. Its flintknapped blade shines with short, glinting winks at certain angles. The stag antler handle is not its first home, and it will likely see many more. The black blade has been passed from his father’s father to him, all the way from the first chieftain of their young clan.

His grandfather, his chieftain, had not asked for it back when he passed down his judgement, nor did he offer to relinquish it. Selfish? Of course, but having it has been an anchoring point to remind him that his old life was not some dream. It is his only talisman against both the living beasts that stalked the night and the encroaching terror of the dark that whispers in the back of every man, woman and child’s skull.

Dreams are an odd thing for him now. It has been a long time since he felt the consistent presence of the spirits of nature and the ancestors. They had guided him at first, teaching him what it meant to be one of the spirit-touched as gently as the steady flow of a stream moving silt along the bottom. His patience waned, though and arrogance came in to find a space in his heart. Years passed, and the arrogance deafened him to the voices of the spirits, and soon they gave up trying to speak to him. Why they have come back to him now, he can’t tell.

Having finished his task, the man stands and leaves what he could not carry with him. The ravens will tell the wolves of its presence soon and it won’t be wasted.

The forest in which he lives for now is quiet. Game is not sparse and the plant life is varied. In short, it’d be the perfect place to settle, just like the past three. But he is in possession of a restless spirit, and establishing a more permanent range does not feel right.

He finds his way back to his camp tucked in a fairly shallow hollow under a rock outcropping and settles in. Food is consumed and firewood is resupplied. The light of day has yet to fade, so he spends some time preparing the hide for tanning. Even though he takes his time, the lack of any sort of distraction makes it go by too fast, and soon he has naught to do but set up his bone rattles, hollowed bones strung out to make an early warning for anything trying to sneak upon him as he sleeps, and try to rest.

Sleep comes slowly for him as is usual nowadays. He stares out beyond the glow of his small fire into the cool darkness. The sounds of the nightlife of the forest begin to filter through the snapping and popping of the sticks burning. Nothing approaches his little sanctuary, and he begins to drift off. The last thing he takes note of is an owl perched low just beyond the ring of orange light, two pale disks and a silvery outline the only indication that it is there.

 --

The forest is too bright. Far too bright for the sun to be out and the thought jars him a bit. While his mind catches up with the haze of the dream, he recognizes the familiar warmth of a visiting spirit. A vision? A dream? Hard to tell, but the feel of the spirit itself is an odd though still safe mixture of joy, relief, sorrow, and urgency. Of those, the last is what concerns him the most: spirits rarely display such concepts of time. They understand the passage of it, of course, as many had once lived and others are of the natural cycles of the world, but never has he felt this very human-like awareness from them.

He turns and turns, searching for the manifestation of the spirit. No one else shared this glade-that-wasn’t with him, and confusion sets in. A tittering laugh comes from above. Ah, a bird then. Perched several feet above him is a sparrow. It’s an unassuming little creature, but the man knows better than to underestimate it.

It chirps at him again and flutters down to land on him. Tiny claws grasp his bare shoulder gently for but a moment before it finds its way to the ground. Once there, though, it does not keep its form. It grows and changes into the shape of a woman. The man starts at the sight of her; her white hair, clear blue eyes, and small stature marks her as Pale Sparrow.

He remembers very little of her from before her accident, only that she had been sweet and the younger sister of Bear Man and She Taunts The Dark. A short trip to retrieve useful healing herbs turned deadly, and in the rock slide that tore down the mountain side, she was struck. The entire clan mourned for moons when she failed to wake and fell into an eversleep where the body lives but the spirit is elsewhere. Some wake from eversleep, but most do not. Pale Sparrow had been stuck in eversleep for almost two summers, never dying but miraculously never deteriorating either. He does recall that Laughing Bones spent many hours tending her, awaiting the moment that she would either return to them or become well and truly one with the spirit world. Guilt gnaws at his throat when he realizes that he did not particularly care until after his exile began.

Pale Sparrow cocks her head as she peers up at him and smiles brightly. She speaks, “I’m so happy I’ve found you, Storm Born.”

Words sound strange to his ears after three moons alone, and they feel even stranger coming from his own mouth as he replies, “Didn’t know there was anyone looking for me.”

Her smile turns sad and she murmurs, “No, you wouldn’t expect it. We need your help.”

Her expression makes the guilt stop gnawing and just squeeze and for a moment he can’t breathe. However, that quickly passes when he catches what she said. We? “What do the spirits need of me? Why now?”

She shakes her head, “Not the spirits, our… clan.” She flinches a bit at the mention of the clan, obviously worried that bringing it up would draw his ire. When he remains placid, she presses on, “I know I have no right to ask this of you, but the clan is in grave danger, and you’re the only one I could think of who can help us.”

Storm Born shakes himself out of his stunned stupor and asks, “I don’t understand, why not have the others do what must be done? No doubt they don’t want my help at all. I can’t blame them.”

“None of them understand the depth of this threat. The thing that comes for us is evil incarnate,” Pale Sparrow winces, “It’s slain dozens of clans down to the elders and children. Nothing is ever spared. Even its aura here in the spirit world is terrible and makes you feel like you’ll never know joy again. What’s worse is it is undying, as if the spirit world does not want it or can’t hold it. It just… slithers back into its body. Countless warriors have tried…”

He can’t believe what he is hearing, “Then what makes you think that I can do anything against it? If it can’t be killed, what use am I to you?” He was once the strongest warrior the clan had, but if what she’s told him is true, not even his gifts from the spirits could save them. “It sounds like you need a shaman… or several.”

She perks at his suggestion. “My thoughts exactly. We don’t have a shaman. Laughing Bones may know more than the average person but he’s no shaman. I- We need you to go and find the Star Clan.”

“Are you serious?” Even in their small, out of the way clan there are tales of the Star Clan and their legendary prowess. No one is sure how, but their number of spirit-touched people is phenomenally high; it’s even whispered around fires deep in the night that they have the spirits of the stars themselves living among them. Surely, they mustn’t be as strong as the tales claim.

“I am. If anyone can help us fight this thing, it’ll be them. And if there’s anyone who can make the journey to get them, it’s you.”  
The faith shining from her very being abashes him and he looks away, “I’m no diplomat, and I’m not charming. Why would they say yes to me?”

“Because in spite of everything, I think you’re a good man. I think they’ll see that too,” her voice rings so true he can almost believe her words. “Spirit-touched have a different way of seeing things, you’ll find.” Her last words are sly and for the life of him he can’t fathom why.

“If I said yes to this whole insane plan, how do I find them? I have no idea where I’d even start. The stories could never get the place straight.”

She laughs, “Why, dear brother, the stars will show you the way. Follow the Fire-Bird’s path across the sky and he will lead you there.” Pale Sparrow takes up one of his huge hands in her own, and she adds with a pleased smile, “You won’t be alone in this journey. There are those in the clan who believed me and I’ve sent them to aid you. What awaits you will change your life and the clan. I can’t be sure in what ways but… It’s something besides darkness at least.”

The small woman-spirit releases his hand and steps away from him. “The choice belongs to you, Storm Born. I cannot force this upon you and you have every reason to turn me down. I understand that completely. You don’t have any reason to make such a sacrifice for us anymore. Please though, think about it.”

\-- 

When he wakes that morning, the ashes of the fire are cold and the owl that watched over him the night before is long gone. In the light of day, he cannot be sure how to take what Pale Sparrow asked of him. A small spiteful part of him that belongs to the past wants to say good riddance and turn away. In any other choice regarding unstoppable, unpreventable danger, avoiding it to one’s best ability is the only smart and reasonable thing to do. However the much larger and louder part of him urges, no, demands that he help. This is his clan, whether he deserves to be with them or not. Turning his back on them in the face of utter annihilation after even just one of them has reached out for his help would strip him of his last trappings of humanity. They deserved more from him before, and he could not and would not deliver, but he can change that now. Do better by them.

Storm Born grabs his flintknapping supplies and gets to work on the stones he had selected for arrowheads and spear points. He will wait for the Fairy Tail hunters to find him, and he’ll be ready for the journey when they do.

The tapping of the blunted antler and other tools against stone is a calming ritual and helps bring some normalcy back into the moment. Between bites of food and sips of water from the buffalo bladder he carries it in, he muses over how to start their trek. Pale Sparrow showed him the stars to follow to be sure, the direction is the easy bit. No, the hard part will come when they must cross through the Sabertooth clan’s territory, which stretches so far north and south that it would take them several days they do not have to go around. The Sabertooth clan has never been a friend of the Fairy Tail clan, and for a short while the two clans had been damn near antagonistic. If they want to have a hope of saving their clan, they’ll have to brave the jaws of the Sabers and hope to be allowed through.

He turns plans over and over in his head for hours until the sun begins to sink below the trees. Another small fire is built on the ashes of the old and he continues to work, packing his finished stone tips for future mounting, checking his supply of sinew and the health of his bowstrings, and prepping the rest of his supplies for stowing away. He would have to travel light, and since he will be in the company of others there will be no need to pack along his things that only a lone man would need. Still, he’ll likely need them if he survives this quest of his, so everything that is not coming with is tucked away from the elements with great care.

With the darkness comes the need to rest. When the dreams come, they are without any sense of calm that came with Pale Sparrow. He is assaulted by visions of children being torn asunder by their elders, settlements turned to ash, and whole clans withering, writhing, and dying. Through every glimpse of horror is the feeling of unmitigated malevolence and a thirst for all Life to suffer. Even in the relative safety of the dream he can feel the attention of the source of this maelstrom upon him. It’s only for a brief moment but it douses him in terror, and he starts awake in a sweat and to the dying embers of his fire.

Night has yet to give way to the sun so he waits for pink to paint the eastern horizon. When there’s enough light to see by, he meanders down to a stoney brook to refill his water supply. As prepared as he’ll ever be, Storm Born finds a shady spot above his shelter so he can watch for his former clanmates.

He’s leisurely flicking through ideas on how to persuade the Sabertooth chieftain when voices find his ear. Voices, he’s pleased to note, that are wonderfully familiar. As they always have, his hunters have come for him.

Talking Raven is the first one he sees, easily recognizable with his long green braids decorated with colored stones and the feathers of his namesake. Next is Cedar Casting Shade, her haughty gait and proud bearing clearly unchanged. Laughing Bones brings up the rear, looking ghastly as ever with his ram skull mask maned with skunk pelts. They wind their way up to his campsite, and it’s then that he reveals himself, sliding down the side of his boulder.

“A little bird told me that you were looking for me,” he quips, smiling a bit when they spin to see him, “Took you you long enough.”

“Storm Born!”

He sort of forgot about their group assault tendencies and is knocked flat on his back by the three enthusiastic hunters. He returns their joy with a bear hug of his own; he could not have stopped the reaction if he tried.

After much blubbering from them, Storm Born pries them off of himself.

Laughing Bones gripes, “You were a real bitch to find, you know that?”

Storm Born rolls his eyes. “Not like I was covering my trail or anything.” At first he hadn’t bothered, but not every clan he came across in his travels were friendly. Unfortunately, not every encounter ended without blood drawn either, so he decided it’d be best to hide his presence.

“It is a fortunate thing that Spirit Feather could guide us to you. Without her, it would have been like tracking a falcon on a cloudy day,” Talking Raven supplies.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your touch, rain cloud,” Cedar Casting Shade teases, leaning into a tree and running a thumb along her bow’s string.

Storm Born grunts and turns from them to grab his things. However something Talking Raven said clicks, “Wait, Spirit Feather?”

“You don’t- But she said she talked to you already,” Laughing Bones says, exasperated.

“Pale Sparrow did but she didn’t mention anything about Spirit Feather,” Storm Born shrugs.

“That is her name now, brother,” Talking Raven explains, “When she woke from eversleep-”

“She’s alive?” Storm Born’s mind grinds to a halt trying to process the news. His remembered awkwardness interacting with the woman he thought was dead also makes an appearance and he has to fight back the desire to whack his skull against a tree.

“Yeah, and spirit-touched, too, apparently,” Cedar drawls, sounding less than impressed.

“A little respect please,” Raven admonishes, “Without her we’d be clueless about the coming evil or where to find Storm Born. Yes, she woke up, but she brought back terrible news.”

The three of them go on to describe what happened after Spirit Feather’s awakening and subsequent warning of oncoming doom. They spoke of how many of the clan believe that they can fight off this foe just like any other, and how Spirit Feather came to Laughing Bones to confide that if they all fight this enemy, everyone in the clan will perish.

Laughing Bones is the guardian and guide of the spirits of the dead for their clan, in charge of funerary rites and aiding the souls of those gone into the spirit world. He was the natural choice for this important role, given his sensitivity to spirits and their world. When there was nothing more the healers could do for her, they gave Pale Sparrow- no, Spirit Feather over into his care. Were her spirit to return, he would be able to tell more easily than others, and were she to die, he would be there to help her move on. For two summers he tended her, keeping her body clean and comfortable as he could. Deep bonds are formed in such circumstances, and even though she had not been there to know directly of his diligence, Spirit Feather felt that Laughing Bones would be the one who believed her wholeheartedly.

After all, a man of the spirits understands the seriousness of their warnings.

And so here they were, days later and together again at last.

Storm Born is mostly silent throughout the tale, only occasionally asking for clarification here and there. Everything that’s happened in the past few days has been real, and they needed to go now.

“We only have half the day left for travel,” he stands and takes his old position at the lead. Cedar Casting Shade, Talking Raven, and Laughing Bones each stand a little taller now that everything is as it should be once again. He can feel his own spine straighten a little too and he says, “Let’s go find the Star Clan.”


End file.
